


Rectify

by vuas



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breathplay, Come Swallowing, Dom/sub, Dominant Kylo Ren, Established Relationship, F/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Punishment, Spanking, Submissive Rey (Star Wars), bratty Rey rights campaign, when a prompt speaks to you like the word of god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24411226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuas/pseuds/vuas
Summary: He’s starting to recognize this expression—the one that’s begging for an attitude correction.“Rey,” he says lowly. “If you make me come over there, you’ll regret it, little girl.”Or: Rey is a brat. Ben doesn’t know what to do. They figure it out together.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 109
Kudos: 879





	Rectify

**Author's Note:**

> @reylobaelo on twitter posted the following prompt: Rey's TERRIBLE at being submissive: always spitting out Ben's come, never staying still during spanks, somehow always managing to undo ties, etc. Ben's about to suggest they stop doing d/s stuff, till he realizes that Rey just really likes being punished
> 
> And I said HOPE YOU WANTED 10k WORDS ABOUT IT

It’s been quiet in the bedroom for an awfully long time.

Ben only notices because the AC kicks off, and with it, the stillness of the apartment becomes more apparent. He dogears his book and frowns, listening for something that’ll give it away; but he’s met with no whimpering, no sighs or shuffling sounds that should be coming from down the hall where Rey is a little...indisposed.

He frowns, pulling out his phone: it’s only been ten minutes.

Had she fallen  _ asleep? _

He tucks his book on the coffee table on top of Rey’s iPad and stands—suddenly his mind careens through increasingly terrible scenarios in which he’s tied the restraints wrong and suffocated her (it’s all very dramatic the way the ambulance carts her away from his sobbing, bereft form)—he makes quick work of the hallway, bare feet padding on carpet.

“Oh—hi.”

When he stumbles in haste through the threshold, Rey greets him, laying on her back against the pillows, wrists notably free from the cuffs he’d left her in. The expression on her face is difficult to parse—flirting so quickly between excitement and curated casuality.

“You—how did you do that?” He frowns at the cuffs, neatly folded on the pillow beside her. 

“Flexible joints,” she says with a shrug, lifting her hands to wiggle her fingers. 

“Okay,” he says slowly, taking hesitant steps into the room until he’s close enough to sit on the mattress. “Did I do them too tight?” He reaches out to pull her hands into his lap, turning them over and inspecting her skin for any abrasions; the cuffs have a tiny lever on the side that’s easy to unlock if the wearer twists just right, but it does take some effort.

Rey doesn’t answer, apparently absorbed in the sight of his fingertips curling over her own; he’ll admit it is more than a little pleasing how his hand dwarfs hers. He intertwines their fingers, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Rey audibly swallows, and shakes her head. “Nope,” she squeezes back. He thinks she means to go on—the pause feels calculated—but she simply falls silent. 

He forces himself not to sigh—they’ve had this conversation a couple times; that he’s not a mind reader, that Rey needs to talk about what she needs, to be honest about what she wants. She tells him she’s working on it, really. In fact, she makes leaps and bounds of progress some days—yet he can already tell by the pensive expression she’s wearing, by the way she avoids his gaze that today is not one of them.

“Do you want to just… shower? Go to bed?”

Rey ticks, like he’s irritated her further with these suggestions. 

“No,” she says in a low voice, mouth a thin line. “I haven’t even come yet.” The tone she uses has enough attitude to spark fire.

He raises his eyebrows. “Who said anything about having an orgasm?” It’s a little cruel to say, and he’s never once sent her to bed unsatisfied so she must know he doesn’t mean a word of it, but—

The glow in her eyes is back, so he’ll take it.

* * *

Saturday finds them squished together at a table in the back of the beer garden; Rose was celebrating a promotion and had invited everyone for drinks. There’s a little slice of the city skyline behind the deck, a glittering backdrop of their home they can observe while paying twice what they would at a regular bar.

Eventually there’s a lull in the conversation between Rey, Kaydel and Rose; his girlfriend turns back to lean against him, smiling over her beer. 

“Having fun?”

“Of course,” he nods, trying not to check his watch. “You know how much I love single batch IPA’s,” he deadpans.

Rey wrinkles her nose. “Rose wanted to grab a few photos for her instagram. You’ll live.”

He mutters something about regular beer available at literally any other establishment: Rey looks as if she hasn’t heard, but she turns her head a few second later and says under her breath: “Besides. I’m going to make it worth your while.”

He clears his throat, shifting a little. “Oh?”

Rey winks; and even he’ll admit that the summer sun out here was captivating with the way it shaded her hazel eyes.

“Anything you want,” she nods, lips centimeters from his neck. “Aren’t you hungry, Ben?” And then there’s a hand sliding inside his suit jacket, gliding over his abdomen and settling just above his trouser button.

“Yeah,” he glances towards the sign for the bathrooms, wondering what the chances are that they could steal away in a stall like how they used to in high-school. “Starving.”

“Me too,” a fingertip, tracing the heavy line of his cock beneath his clothes. “I’ll grab mozzarella sticks from the bar.”

Rey bounces away before he can do anything; he’s trapped in the booth with pants that are suddenly too tight.

“A bit sunburned, Solo,” teases Finn from down the table. “Look how red his ears are!”

  
  


* * *

The TV is on, a complete waste—Ben couldn’t be less interested in whatever show is playing if he tried. Rey isn’t even facing the screen, too busy where she’s kneeling in front of him, mouth stuffed full of cock.

“Fuck—“ he chokes; Rey is eagerly licking a wet stripe from his balls to the tip, finishing by tonguing the slit. She looks up at him, gaze intense when she opens her mouth, showing him the velvet flat of her pink tongue before diving back down, suckling the tip, accompanied by a small, spit-wet hand pumping his length.

He doesn’t want to know where she learned whatever she does next—it’s filthy—but his hand finds the back of her head, petting the loose strands of her ponytail back. Rey hums at the touch, bobbing her head rhythmically to his quiet praise.

She pops off with a gasp for air, coughing slightly. Her chin is wet, a thin string of liquid dripping from the corner of her mouth to his dick—messy girl. “Ben,” she whimpers, still sliding the ring of her forefinger and thumb from base to tip, slower now. “I don’t know if it’ll all fit.”

“Christ, Rey—“ his head lolls back onto the pillows. She always knows what to say, tone sweet and girlish. He’s afraid to look down; he’s going to come too quickly if he sees those pink lips struggling to take him in.

With his eyes closed, he feels it when she licks around the head, taking her time; luxurious laps of her tongue like he’d given her ice cream on a summer afternoon.

“You taste good,” she mumbles, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the shaft, lingering there. “You always do—love it so much, Ben.”

He chances it—needs to see her face. He’s met with a vision; Rey’s fingertips tracing delicate, teasing patterns on his cock, her cheek pressed to his thigh, gazing up at him with adoration. She smiles, eyes crinkling when their gazes meet.

His hand tightens in her hair, lifting her head with force, watching her expression soften when he manhandles her. “Keep sucking,” he orders hoarsely. “Go on. Be a good girl.”

Her eyes glitter, like he’s dangled bait. “I thought I was  _ always  _ good, Ben.” His dick twitches, watching her mouth move—she’s a little raw, pink in the face. She looks like sex personified, bra strap slipping off a freckled shoulder, kneeling at his feet and eager to please. “Am I not  _ already _ good?”

“Rey—don’t,” he hisses, strained, fist flexing involuntarily, holding her hair a little tighter than he normally would—he needs her to keep going; his dick  _ aches. _

His beautiful girl  _ moans _ in response to his grip _ ,  _ head jerking in his grasp. “Ben,” she chokes on his name, throat working like she’s on the cusp of begging. “Ben, make me—“

He curses, hunching over to fist his cock and feed it to her like she's asking for: he’s past gentleness, palming her skull and pushing down down  _ down— _

Rey scrambles to open her throat, her hands flying up to his thighs and curling into his muscle there. All he can hear are the muffled, wet gagging noises she’s making.

“Fucking  _ take  _ it, baby,” he urges. Watching her just barely breathe—the rush it gives him is incredible; so rarely he lets go like this, especially where she’s concerned. Sure: he loves how she is in bed, likes fucking her like a whore until she comes on his cock, but this is something  _ else. _

Rey forces her head back after a few seconds, gulping air. He shakes his head as if to clear it, wondering if he’s gone too far; there's tears in her eyes. His heart swells with fear, afraid that he’s hurting her just like he’s done to everyone else—pushed too far and too hard and too fast.

Instead, she surprises him: “Help me take it,” she whispers, cheeks damp with perspiration and the few tears that have leaked from her eyelashes. “You have to make me—because I—“ she stutters over her words, like they’ve entered unsure territory. Rey looks like she  _ means _ to say more, but her face crumples and she whines, high-pitched, like he’s wounded her inadvertently.

“Okay,” he soothes, because she looks like she needs it. “Open your mouth, Rey.”

But she just—puffs up her cheeks, mouth resolutely closed, so his cock bumps her cheek instead. Her eyes are sharp enough to cut, burning with disobedience.

He nearly bites his tongue, frustration rising like an animal in his chest—so they’re doing  _ this  _ again. This routine where Rey resists until he pushes. He wonders what it says, to have a lover that’s unenthusiastic; can’t imagine what runs through her mind when she’s pulling this stunt—and she’s been doing it so often, these days. His cock is the hardest it’s ever been, and she’s going to drive him  _ mad  _ if they can’t resolve this.

“ _ Open your fucking mouth,”  _ he snaps, the danger lurking in his tone surprising even to  _ him _ . He punctuates the underlying threat by squeezing his thumb into the hinge of her jaw, harder and harder until—

Rey goes very, very still, her eyes hazy with whatever spell she’s been put under. A beat passes, and then—

She opens her mouth, tongue out, glancing demurely up at him from under her lashes.

It is the single most erotic thing he’s ever seen in his life.

“Fuck,” he hisses, afraid to waste more time, drawing her forward, pushing into the tight heat of her throat. Rey just—accepts it. Relaxing, fingers curling into his trousers when he hits the limit of comfort, but ultimately pliable and sweet as he forces her through it and holds her there, relishing the twitch of her shoulders. It all  _ means  _ something but he’s too close to orgasm to think. 

She gurgles, quiet and pathetic, filled to the brim with his dick, her nose brushing against the trimmed hairs on his abdomen.

Predictably, she tries to pull off, a desperate sound coming from her chest. If he lets her move an inch, she’ll take a mile—so he grunts, and makes a decision, hoping it’s the right one: he holds her there with a heavy hand.

“You said you can’t,” he pants, watching as she squeezes her eyes shut, fresh tears spilling from the corners. “But you can—see?”

Her chest heaves with a sob— she nods, nearly imperceptible. The pleasure that floods his brain in response is solid and bright, like looking into the sun. Ben can feel his balls tightening—it won’t be long now; the last threads of his cognition are dedicated to deciding if he wants to come in her mouth or on her tits.

He relaxes his hold just enough that she can breathe in painful whimpers, sliding her jaw back until only the tip remains in her mouth. “We’ll do five, baby.” She must know what he means: five gags on his cock.

This is the part where he’d say _is that_ _okay?_ Or _you can do it,_ or some other variation of soft praise and encouragement. Rey looks up at him, her expression clearly conflicted—he can tell she’s expecting him to stick with his usual script.

But she’s been  _ so—bratty _ . Teasing. And he’s had enough.

He takes it in; the way she’s waiting patiently on her knees. How it’s a response to a firm lead in ways he hadn’t expected. Thinks about how precious this feels—only because it’s  _ Rey _ between his legs.

He pulls her forward again, this time with a hand in her silky hair: rejoices over the feeling of her tongue on the underside of his cock, the flutter of her throat tightening when he’s deep. And it’s only when he  _ allows _ her to, that she slides back again, coughing; this knowledge slivers through his gut in the best way.

“Good girl,” he praises, giving her only half a moment before pushing again—it’s heady the way she submits, going limp. “Just need help, huh?”

She gurgles—it sounds like an attempt at a hysterical laugh; he certainly feels the same way. 

He eases a second hand behind her jaw: it’s easier the third and fourth time, to work her down with this kind of leverage.

“One more,” he groans. “Just one, then I’ll let you swallow my come, kitten.” He doesn’t give her time to think before it’s over—he fucks into her mouth and buries his cock, holding her there, forcing her to deep-throat him far longer than before; watching through hooded eyes as she instinctively struggles around his girth, nose pressed against his belly, little hands fisted at his thighs. It’s delicious, the way she melts into his lap.

He lets her go, only to let a hand free so he can quickly fist his length, using her leftover drool as lubricant; he pumps once, twice before snatching her chin and pushing a thumb into her mouth, forcing her to hold her jaw open. She looks winded at the movement, startled to be used so thoroughly. 

“Swallow. All of it.” He orders, just in time; he comes with a grunt, painting her tongue with ropes of milky spend; the image is delightful, watching it mingle in her mouth with the wetness gathered from sucking his cock. When he has nothing left to give, he leans back on the couch with a huff, exhaustion taking over. It trills down his spine, the knowledge that his come will sit in her belly—inside her in ways nobody else can touch— how good girls swallow—

Rey spits, letting the substance dribble down from her lips to her chin. Eyes flashing, sharp enough to cut. Watching, waiting for his reaction.

He stares back in disbelief, watching her wipe her face before turning her head and spitting the remainder out into her palm.

“I told you—” he says softly, tearing his gaze from her lips as she licks them clean, before clearing his throat and continuing. “I told you to swallow. Did you not hear me?”

She shrugs. “Don’t want to,” is all she quips, standing up on shaky legs. Rey hovers for a moment, staring back.  _ Daring _ him.

His dick twitches valiantly.

But then she turns, moving into the kitchen; he hears her turn the faucet on to rinse her face.

Maybe she just wasn’t in the mood.

* * *

“Rey?” 

Moving in together had been exciting when she’d finally said yes—the idea of waking up each morning with the woman he loved was intoxicating in the best way; most people that knew him confided that he seemed remarkably well adjusted these days, and Ben was happy to attribute that to Rey.

The fact that she doesn’t use coasters is a very small problem, in the grand scheme of things.

But he’s had a long day at work, dropped his keys on the porch, stubbed his toe on the closet door while trying to unlace his shoes—and then Ben realizes that Rey has left a soda out with no coaster, sweating condensation onto the porous wood of their coffee table.

It wouldn’t be such a big deal if they hadn’t had this discussion  _ just _ last night, when he’d pointed out the rings from her previous drinks—Rey is one of the smartest people he knows, so the fact that she apparently can’t remember this  _ one _ thing just seems ridiculous.

In fact, the aluminum can’s been placed centimeters away from the unused coaster he’d provided for her, like some great cosmic prank.

“You’re home!” He hears her padding down the hallway. “You’re a little late but I was thinking we could just order take-away, maybe Mexican—“

His breath hitches when Rey comes into view: she’s wearing a dress, if it could be called that at all—it hardly covered the skin of her thighs, leaving her long, shapely legs and tan skin bare.

_ This is a diversion  _ he thinks, trying to ignore how tight his trousers have become.  _ You are not weak, Benjamin Solo. _

His pep talk is going very well until she rises up on her tip-toes to grab a paper take-out menu where they’re hidden on the top shelf of the bookcase: her well-muscled thighs flex to draw his eyes to that tiny hem—Ben comes to the startling realization that she’s not wearing underwear.

“Rey,” he clears his throat, ever the fighter. “Your drink here—on the table.”

“Mhmm?” She nods, though she’s already absorbed by the burrito options. 

“I just—I thought last night we agreed to use coasters so we won’t ruin the varnish.”

“Oh,” she glances up, flashing him a smile—he recognizes it as another tactic to make his heart skip a beat. “Sure, you can move it, Ben.”

“That’s not—what I mean.” He takes a deep breath, wondering why his chest is so tight, why his knuckles are clenched, white hot. “Rey, come here.”

“Do you want fajitas?,” she asks, pulling out her cellphone.

“Rey.  _ Come here  _ now _.” _

He is reluctant to use this tone again—the one that makes him feel so  _ godamned _ mean, which is the opposite of how Rey usually makes him feel. Ever since she infiltrated his life, she’s been a balm to the rough bits of his soul—except—this  _ thing _ she keeps doing to create these sexually charged moments; irritating him until he snaps, fucks her harder, rougher.

He’s not blind—Rey is more likely to be found lounging in sweats than a dress with no underwear—it’s like she’s teasing him. On purpose.

Trying to tell him something.

She carefully closes the menu and puts her cell phone down on the shelf, turning on her tiptoes to face him. Rey has puffed up her cheeks again, chin pointed down, glaring at him with the same squinty-eyed disobedience she did when she spat out his come after he told her to swallow. He’s starting to recognize this expression—the one that’s begging for an attitude correction.

“Rey,” he says lowly. “If you make me come over there, you’ll regret it, little girl.”

She edges a little closer, but stays on the other side of the coffee table. Puts her hands on her hips and regards him with an air of  _ disinterest _ .

“Don’t make me put you over my knee,” he growls. 

Rey is  _ brave _ ; she raises an eyebrow and snorts. “Yeah, if you could catch me— _ “ _

He’s not sure exactly how it happens; blind with irritation, he surges up, taking just two steps—Rey’s eyes go wide as a rabbit’s when she realizes he’s had enough—he’s so fast she barely has time to turn, let alone dart away. He lifts her easily; he’s so worked up he can do it with one arm, merely tugging her body up against his and tumbling both of them to the couch.

Rey huffs and squirms and throws her limbs out: Ben grunts when she lands an elbow in his gut, but he’s quick to grab her ponytail at the base, arching her neck—she stills, trying not to tug her scalp too much. It gives him the chance to shift her weight over his knee so her ass is in the air, the dress slipping around her hips.

“You want to keep sassing? Try me,” he hisses, throwing his forearm across her back so she can’t get up. “Are you going to use a coaster, Rey?”

She wiggles, kicking her feet. “Let  _ go—“ _

He’s spanked her before; during sex, while they’re fucking. This is new; they’re both dressed and sure, he’s turned on—but if he does it now, it’ll be deliberate. 

But Rey is—

He nearly chokes; she’s putting on a show of squirming indignation, but the subtle arch of her back, the way she’s deliberately sticking her ass out—he can see that she’s wet, glistening between her thighs. He  _ knows _ that if he could see her face now, it’d be all flushed cheeks and bedroom eyes.

Ben realizes he’s faced with a decision: lean into it, or don’t.

_ We need to talk about this,  _ he thinks, staring at the tops of her bare thighs.  _ We should have an adult discussion— _

The first crack of his hand across supple skin genuinely suprises her; he can tell by the way she jolts that she hadn’t been expecting it to be so hard. “ _ Oh _ ,” she hiccups, frozen across his lap.

He really, truly does think about stopping there— but there’s something about the image of her bent over his knee that seeds inside his consciousness like a bite of the darkest chocolate, the sweetest sip of cream. The food metaphors are accurate: he’s just so  _ hungry  _ to put Rey in her place, if the reward is a pretty mess at his feet.

The next few slaps are just as sharp—Rey keens as her skin turns a lovely shade of pink. “Please—wait; Ben, I’m—“ she hiccups through each breath, high pitched. He ignores her protests, presses on, breathing through his nose while his teeth are clenched, fury and desire warring beneath his skin— the whole time watching her fall to pieces for him.

Eventually the sting floods his palm, and he pauses to listen to the sounds of their twinned panting and the ceaseless whimpering on her part.

“ _ Are _ you sorry, baby?” He questions, voice wrecked, watching her flinch when he lays a soothing hand on her heated bottom. “I’ll stop if you’ve learned your lesson.”

Her shoulder hitch, but he hardly notices, because—

“Rey,” he prods, “you’re so  _ wet.”  _ His hand dips where her underwear should be, tracing the seam of her cunt. She likes this—she  _ loves  _ this—helpless and malleable and subject to his whim—

“Ben,” she whines, “please—hurts.”

He scowls, spanking her again, a fresh barrage on already abused skin. “I asked you a question, Rey,” he says patiently, listening to her squeals go up in pitch.

He’s unprepared for what she does next: his girl may be slight and lithe but she’s also strong, most of her weight muscle. Rey jerks her weight from his grasp on a particularly hard slap, slipping from his lap; he reaches for her at the last second to avoid dropping her completely. 

Despite all this, it’s the sharp cry of pain she lets out that strikes fear into his heart, shattering the charged moment that’s been building between them.

“Shit,” he says, tugging her back up. “Sorry—that was too much, I’m—“ trepidation clogs his throat, voice trembling. “I’m sorry Rey, I should have stopped, but I thought we were—“

“Fuck,” she warbles, her face in her hands and he rights her. She looks so sad and small, her shoulders curled in, body poised like she’s trying not to shake. “Fuck—I’m  _ sorry _ . I’m sorry, this is all my fault,” she continues, peeking at him from behind her fingers, mouth a sad little slant above her chin.

“No, I should have listened to what you were trying to tell me,” he mumbles, pulling her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her—she smells like home, like mango body butter and vanilla perfume. “I know we talked about safewords, but I should still be able to tell before it’s too much. Please—I love you so much, I hate to see you like this. I’m so sorry—“

“It’s not,” she whispers. “Too much.”

He freezes. Here he’s got a trembling little woman in his arms, still fresh from being spanked to high heaven—it’s all so at odds with the reality of the situation, if she truly insists that he’s not a monster for pushing them over the edge, into this sharp, unknown territory.

“I haven’t…” she leans back, still peeking at him from behind her hands, like she requires a barrier between them to say this—as if it humiliates her to continue. “I didnt safeword because I haven’t  _ needed _ to.”

She must see the cogs working overtime in his brain, because she sighs, closing her eyes, like this conversation is a heavy burden. The rest comes out in a rush, as if she’s terrified of losing momentum. “Ben, I’ve been a coward all week—I was too scared to say it out loud and I thought maybe I could just...make it happen organically if I pressed your buttons enough—“ twin tears drip down to her chin, breaking his heart. “That was a mistake, And _ I _ should be the one saying sorry, because it was me overstepping boundaries without telling you. I don’t know  _ why _ I want... I don’t know if I can explain—or if I even deserve to make it right—“

_ Oh _ .

“Hey,” he says, cradling her face in his hands, using his thumbs to wipe away the salty wetness on her skin. “Rey, it’s alright. Trust me, okay? Whatever it is—I’ll help you find the words.” He plants a kiss on the button of her nose. “Together.”

Her face crumples with relief, like he’s pulled a splinter from her heart. “Okay,” she breathes, tucking some of her errant hair back. “Okay—“

She bites her lip, squirming again, eyes jumping to the horizon. “You didn’t really hurt me. I mean; you  _ did _ but I—I liked it.”

“So,” he prompts. “Tell me why—what you liked. Which part.”

“I liked,” she mumbles, toying with the button of his work shirt. “I like when you—teach me a lesson.” She echoes his words from before, pushing them out. Ben nods, hoping she’ll elaborate.

“I like it when...I  _ would _ like it if you….were rough. When I’m…”

“A brat?” He supplies, not trying very hard to contain his smile.

Her face goes pink, but she nods, coyly looking up at him. “When I misbehave. I want you to—show me who’s boss. Prove it to me that it’s you.”

“Okay,” he smooths his thumb over her collarbone, marveling at the softness there. He thinks back to finding her on the bed, sans cuffs. She’d been...expecting him to be angry with her for escaping. And then the blowjob from a few days ago—she’d stared right at him while deliberately disobeying his exact request. Spitting his cum into her hands even though he knew for a fact she  _ preferred  _ to swallow.

All because she thought it might get her in enough trouble—enough to be punished.

She wrinkles her nose a bit. “And I’ll fight back. Annoy you. Find loopholes,” she continues, nervousness creeping back into her tone. “But it’s because I want you...to…”

“Take care of it. Be strict with you.”

“Yes,” she whispers, finally lifting her head. She looks a thousand times better already, eyes bright and clear. “Is that alright?” Her brows pinch together. “You can still say no—I love you regardless. I would hope that’s obvious.”

“Crystal,” his hand creeps up, loosely pressing around her neck. Featherlight pressure, just enough to hold her still—it still amazes him how small she looks in his hands. “But let’s sleep on the whole brat thing. You’ve had quite a day.”

She presses her mouth into an annoyed line. “But we didn’t—“

His fingers squeeze—experimental, harder than he normally would; he can see the exact moment she feels it, watches as recognition glimmers behind her eyes just before the deprivation washes her into a hazy puddle of compliance. “I would advise you  _ not _ to talk back. You aren’t even remotely close to earning that orgasm, sweetheart.”

* * *

He purchases a bottle of her favorite wine on the way home Friday, carrying it like a newborn on the train back to their apartment on the Eastside. He’s had a lot to ponder the past few days; nudging his girlfriend to send him links on the internet, covertly scrolling through on an incognito tab during his lunch break. It turns out what she wants isn’t so drastically different from what they’re already doing; the sex they’ve had from the kindling of their relationship was always rough around the edges, powerful and passionate and typically with him as the dominate partner.

But Rey needs that sharp edge, the cliff, the threat. He can appreciate that—higher stakes means higher reward. So he absorbs what he can, and discovers that it might be what he’s been searching for all along.  _ Submission with fangs _ she had muttered last night while he brushed his teeth. That the safewords existed for a reason—and she swore up and down when he expressed his own concerns that she knew when to use them.

So that left them here. When the train pulls into his station, he sends her a quick text to let her know he’s nearly home.

_ Lean into it. _

Ben opens the door, warmly greeted by a lit candle on the coffee table and Rey’s Spotify playlist on shuffle. She’s down the hall—he can heart the faucet running, maybe washing her face; she usually only gets home twenty or so minutes before he does.

_ Strike one. _

He glances at the little kitchen table where they drink their coffee in mismatched mugs on Sunday mornings—the plates are set up with a tiny vase in the center that holds a dandelion weed (no matter how many times he insisted they weren’t flowers, she was determined to call them as such). The oven vent is humming away—he sets down the bottle of wine as he goes to check on the roasted chicken and leftover carrots from yesterday that Rey had put in to warm up.

Her head pops around the corner just as he’s closing the oven door—the chicken needs a few more minutes—and his heart nearly bursts at the sight; the hair at her temples is damp from washing her face from the day's grime. It’s so familiar and comforting that it gives him the strength to say  _ yes, yes I can do this _ .

“Ooh,” she grins, looking at the wine, “must be a special girlfriend you’ve got.” 

“Something like that,” he nods, winking. “Get the glasses down.” He grabs a dish towel and digs the corkscrew out from the junk drawer.

She pouts. “They’re on the top shelf. You get them.”

_ Strike two.  _

_ Well, maybe just half of one.  _

He watches out of the corner of his eye while rubbing down the spiral tip of the wine opener with the cloth; can practically see the moment Rey decides this isn’t the hill she wants to die on. She brushes past him—small hand on his backside, little tease—before opening the lower cabinet and sticking a foot in, giving her the few additional inches she needs to reach the top shelf over the spices.

She’s wearing a skirt and knee high socks today—he’s still a little embarrassed about the night at Poe’s birthday where he’d accidentally drank several glasses of what he  _ thought _ was regular punch...and then proceeded to drunkenly explain to her  _ exactly _ what he thought of her outfit. Of course she teased him endlessly about waxing poetic on the topic of her thighs, but she  _ did  _ wear them more often, so not a total loss.

And right now they’re not all she’s wearing; he turns to not-so-covertly stare at her derrière while she reaches up to grab the stemless wine glasses. He can see the outline of her underwear—a wisp of black cotton just under her skirt. 

_ Strike two. _

“There. I’ve done my part,” she spins, hitting the cabinet doors closed with a pop of her hip, walking over to set them down. “Earn your keep, Mr. Solo. Pour me a glass.”

He raises an eyebrow as he works the cork open. She’s baiting him again, and it’s tough—the decision to confront it or let her stew.

Because Rey knows what’s coming. He’d left her this morning with her bed head and a kiss and a specific set of instructions. A list he  _ knew _ she wouldn’t follow. And he knows she hasn’t forgotten, and that she can’t feign up an elaborate tale about how she was still asleep; it had taken just just one sentence to grab her full attention at six-thirty am.

_ Rey, I want you to be a good girl for me today. _

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he murmurs, finished pouring two portions, stepping into her personal space; it’s not quite a kiss to the shell of her ear. He prefers to watch her quiver at the ghost of it; he reaches up, curling his fingers under her chin, holding her still, his free hand lifting one of the filled glasses to her lips.

“You’re going to have to make it all the way,”—he feeds her the first sip of wine, coaxing her to tip back her head, careful and controlled so she doesn’t spill a drop “—through dinner, darling.”

Rey’s eyes are about as wide as the moon; it’s hard not to relish the way she’s looking at him, like he’s the only man in the world. 

“Swallow,” he orders, voice dark.

And for once, she does as she’s told, tongue swiping the rim and leaving a wet imprint when he pulls it away.

* * *

Rey eats faster than he’s ever seen, practically inhaling her food. When her plate is clean, he watches her slowly realize that yes, he  _ is _ going to taste his meal, what a concept,  _ thanks— _ her expression goes dark and pouty. She sits in the other chair, arms crossed, dangling her nearly empty wine glass haphazardly. 

He cuts another slice of roast chicken, dragging it through the lemon sauce. “My mother wanted to know what week we wanted the cabin,” he says “something about scheduling the cleaning crew before our visit.”

Rey shrugs, leaning her chair back on two legs and balancing precariously. “I don’t care. Whichever week you can get off work, I suppose.”

He chews his bite of chicken before pointing his fork at her. “Put the chair down. You know I don’t like it when you sit like that.”

Rey ticks at the sound of his voice, a little deeper than before; it’s crazy how quickly he can tell her ears go pink. “Sit like what?” She asks innocently, leaning back further.

“Rey.”

“I’m not  _ doing _ anything.”

He takes a sip of wine, staring at her over the rim. He doesn’t blink once—neither does she. The silence is deafening.

He pushes his chair back a fraction of an inch, spreading his thighs and tapping his shoe once on the tile.

“On the floor,” he rolls his neck, tapping his thigh. “Table privileges are for girls who behave.”

She snorts, making a show of rolling her eyes and glaring at the wall—but leans forward so all four chair legs touch the ground again. 

Then she chances a nervous glance in his direction; Ben returns the look with pursed lips, raising a brow, daring her.

“Rey,” he finally growls when she makes no movement.

“ _ Okay _ ,” she huffs, dragging out the syllables. Her verbal nonchalance doesn’t match her body at all—jumping to attention, scrambling up and out of her chair, before moving between his legs so swiftly that he  _ might _ mistake it for obedience.

“Happy?” She asks, arms still crossed.

“What did I say?”

“I don’t—I’m not doing anything with the chair—“

“Rey,” he interrupts softly.

“You said…on the floor.”

“And? Are you?”

Rey swallows, biting the inside of her cheek before gracefully lowering herself so she’s kneeling between his thighs. “Yes,” she whispers.

Ben has to look away—he’s getting a little too hotheaded with her beneath him and he knows Rey would be all-too delighted to see him lose control, so he stares instead at the peeling paint above the microwave for a second to gather his thoughts.

“Well, I’m not staying down here all night—“

_ Fuck  _ the peeling paint; Ben grunts and snatches her hair again, snapping her neck back to bare her throat, eliciting a little squeak. “You might,” he warns, undoing his zipper as quickly as humanly possible. “If you can’t learn to control that fucking mouth, baby—then I can  _ give _ you something to do with it.”

He’s only half hard purely from lack of stimulation, but the moment he palms his cock he feels it stiffen, grateful to finally be touched; he doesn’t take his time with it, just shoves the head between her lips and pushes until he hits the back of her tongue. She’s warm and velvet on the inside, quickly growing wetter as saliva pools in her mouth.

His hand relaxes a little and Rey’s tongue twitches—her head bobs a fraction but he clicks his tongue and stills her. “Not yet. You have to earn it.” His voice is a little hoarse; he picks up the wine bottle and shakily pours himself another half-glass. “Be quiet. Show me you can listen, and I’ll let you suck.”

Rey whimpers, mouth stretched open, slick dripping down her chin. Her eyes have that sweet, glassy quality again as she watches him take another sip.

But she doesn’t talk back with a dick in her mouth, that’s for sure.

“Good,” he says brusquely, turning back to his plate. “Stay still.” 

Rey lets out a little noise of aggravation when his fork begins scraping across the plate—he ignores her, and the overwhelming urge to fuck into her mouth—and finishes his meal in slow, quiet bites, using his napkin between each swallow. He’s angled himself so that he can still see the top of her coppery hair, struggling to keep his girth within.

“That was all you had to do, baby. Just listen. And now you  _ know _ it’s not hard, is it?” He muses, reaching down to gently pet her hair, tugging a loose curl behind her ear. She gurgles a little—maybe agreeing with him. 

Ben glances at his clean plate, weighing his options. He could keep her like this—she’s certainly more manageable—but he’s not even close to being done, so he needs to get a move on.

“Knees hurt?”

Rey looks up at him from under her lashes before carefully nodding a smidge.

“Alright,” he leans back, throwing an arm blaisely over the back of the chair. “If you want to get up, you can show me how talented you are with that mouth, if you want to use it so bad.”

Her eyes flash with indignation—she’s sucked him off plenty of times before but already he can tell this will be different; he’s fully hard now and she hasn’t even started. He nods to let her go ahead, and Rey shifts her weight a little, easing her mouth off the tip and wrapping a hand around the base—

“Did I say you could use your hands?”

She freezes, looking up at him. Her mouth is already puffy and wrecked but  _ still _ somehow looks bratty. 

The satisfaction that curls in his gut when she lowers her hands is white hot. He nods, patting her head. “Behind your back for now, so you’re not tempted, hmm?”

Rey shivers—he watches her cross her wrists at the base of her spine, and then finally,  _ finally  _ starts sucking in earnest. Her mouth is full and wet and delicious, pulling the sweet string in his abdomen that makes his body go tense. 

Without her hands she’s a little sloppy, isn’t she? But god, it’s beautiful; the hiccuping breaths she takes around the tip, careful to never let it slip out completely, the long, agonizing trail as she works her mouth back down, the gagging sounds when she hits her gag reflex on accident—or perhaps on purpose.

“What a good girl I have,” he groans, hips jerking in time with her movements, “Fuck, this little mouth; keep going, come on—“ she seems to  _ sing _ with the praise; Rey commits to moving as quickly as she can, all but fucking her own throat.

His balls tighten—he reaches for her again, and panting, he reminds her: “—this time you’ll swallow, ok?”

Rey doesn’t answer—too busy trying to bring him to completion, doing all the things she’s established that drive him insane: a lick on the underside and a quick suckle on the head before taking him as deep as possible. She whimpers, eyes nearly cross with desire, little tongue flicking against the slit and then he’s coming, cock jerking in time with his own involuntary thrusts; his mind whites out, nothing but Rey and the thick, milky strands of his spend.

He’s barely finished, leaking weakly against his thigh when he grabs her jaw and shoves a thumb in her mouth, pressing down hard on her tongue, trapping it. He tilts her head back, watching as she squirms on her knees, but he’s relentless—the angle ensures that his come will slide down her throat whether she likes it or not. He hears it when it does slide into her belly; she chokes on it, a little, pathetic sound, but then it clears and all that’s left is Rey, breathing raggedly on her knees.

He pulls his thumb out, frowning when he sees traces of his spend on his skin—he holds it out in front of her face.

“Lick it clean,” he orders.

And she  _ does _ , without argument—leaning forward as if hypnotized, parting her lips easily, sticking out her tongue like a kitten. She makes quick work of what’s left, makes a show of swallowing, before leaning back and staring up at him with such adoration he’d think he invented sex.

“Okay,” he tucks himself back into his trousers, not bothering to zip them up. “Come here,” he motions, patting his thigh; Rey stands, trembling, wiping her mouth on her sleeve before sitting gingerly in his lap, gripping the hem of her skirt. He tugs her to lean back against him, enjoying her warmth.

He squeezes his hands at her middle, underneath her shirt. “You did very good,” he murmurs placatingly. Rey seems to be in shock still—she just nods, looking far off.

“Are you wet?” He croons, nuzzling her jaw. “Did you drip for me with a cock in that throat?”

“Y-yes,” she shivers. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he rubs his thumbs along the bones of her spine, watching her arch in response. “You’re going to go into the bedroom and lay face down on the mattress. I’m going to spank you for disobeying the instructions I gave you this morning—don’t think I forgot about that just because I let you suck me off—and then,  _ if _ you’ve behaved— you’re going to get fucked, alright?”

She’s  _ vibrating _ in his arms, lungs filling with short little gasps of air.

He pinches her thigh, just where her sock ends. “Go on.”

Rey stands, looking coltish, like she’s not quite sure how her legs are supposed to work. She takes a step towards the hall, but then pauses.

“What?” He prompts.

“Can I—will you kiss me?” She asks, breathless. Her cheeks are pink and her mouth raw, but her eyes are glittering, like she’s seeing him in a whole new light.

Ben stands, towering over her before closing the distance and pressing a kiss to her mouth; it’s chaste compared to what he’d normally be doing at this stage. Rey leans into the bulk of him, hands curled into his dress shirt; she opens the seam of her lips so he can dip his tongue inside her, taste her.

Rey nips at his bottom lip with a little more vigor than necessary, obviously intentional—Ben hums when she tries to soothe the pain, licking at the spot. He pinches her thigh again in admonishment.

“Okay,” he pulls away, shaking his head. “ _ That’s _ three strikes.”

* * *

Alone in the bedroom, Rey feels the train come to a halt, the projector spin out of tape, the loss of a comet slipping from orbit.

Alone, she has time to wonder what the hell is wrong with her.

Is it terrible? To like this so much? To watch as her boyfriend becomes this immovable brick wall of determination? To be sure that there’s an end to his patience?

To want to be hurt by him?

It’s still Ben who’s ordering her around—that was made clear when he’d told her to drink a glass of water before going to the bedroom, the nerd. And true, he’s always had a filthy mouth, so that part isn’t much different either.

But the idea that she’d have to truly follow his instructions—follow orders because he was going to  _ make _ her…

The hallway creaks, bringing her out of her reverie; Rey squeaks, quickly turning onto her belly, hoping he hadn’t seen her sitting. Strike four was dangerous territory. One she’d like to see one day, but probably not tonight.

It was here in this bed, this morning, that he’d given her the gift: explicit orders not to be wearing underwear when he got home, and to be waiting by the door on her knees. She’d nodded and preened and watched him leave hours ago as the coil in her stomach wound tighter in anticipation.

It’s so much more than she had dreamed it would be—staring at the wall, she can’t see when he walks in, forced to rely on her other senses; the scent of his cologne, nearly faded, the sound of him undoing his belt buckle—

Wait.

“Keep your hands up there.” He rucks up her dress—Rey makes a nervous sound, her brain bubbling up with a thousand things to say to escape. This was a terrible idea—she doesn’t actually want to be spanked with the loop of his leather belt, that would be too much—

The wail that splits the air is so wounded that it takes her a moment to realize it’s  _ her.  _ The leather cracks when it hits her skin, and the pain is immediate, a white hot strip completely different from his hand. Her whole body tenses, and she’s not even breathing; the pain shows no sign of receding.

“Ten, I think. Thank me, or we’ll start over.”

She moves to roll over, placate him; doesn’t get very far, because he slides up the mattress and plants his knee into her back.

“If your hands move,” he taunts. “The number goes up, sweetheart.”

She huffs, slamming a fist into the pillows with frustration. “I don’t want—“

“Eleven now.” His fingertips trace her arm. “You  _ are _ a brave little thing. Talking back.”

Rey bites her cheek.

The next one is lighter, like maybe he’d found a scrap of mercy in his heart; she breathes a sigh of relief. It was still painful, but manageable. He pauses, the clink of his buckle behind her.

“Th-thank you,” she tries.

“So sweet,” he teases. “Sometimes you just need a little correction, hmm?”

He doesn’t continue; the belt hits her backside for three through six in quick succession—this time Rey opens her mouth to yelp but nothing comes out. She squirms, bucks her hips but he doesn’t relent. It’s heady and overwhelming, this knowledge; that he’s that much stronger than her.

Seven comes too quickly after the previous ones—it  _ hurts _ , and Rey quickly throws her arms back, hands reaching out to cover as much skin as she can because if he spanks her again  _ she’s going to die. _

“That won’t do,” he sighs. “Put your hands back up, Rey.”

Her ass is still flaring hot. Rey closes her eyes and hides her face in the blankets, hoping to appear as pathetic as possible.

“Rey.”

Shamefully, she slowly pulls her arms back up, tucking them beneath her torso. Her lungs don’t seem to be capable of taking deep breaths—instead she’s lightheaded, dizzy. He’s really going through with this. He’s not going to stop just because she whined about it. She doesn’t get a say in it anymore—and it’s making her wetter than she thought possible.

Eight and nine make her whimper. She’d thought this would be more animated on her part; seductive moaning and wiggling, but her mind is blissfully empty save for the count down.

“I haven’t heard a thank you.”

Fear strikes her heart. Fuck—she’d forgotten. “Thank you—Ben, thank you, oh, thank you, I’m sorry, please no more—“

“I think five more,” he murmurs. “So next time you won’t forget.”

Rey cringes. Her eyes well with tears and she doesn’t know  _ why— _ she’d asked for this _. _ She falls silent, smothering any protests into the mattress. Even she can’t deny that it feels so  _ good _ to let go—let him decide so she doesn’t even have to worry about it. 

“You can do it,” he praises, rubbing a hand over her heated skin. “You’re doing so good already. I’ll go quick. Get it over with, ok?”

“Okay,” she sniffles, nodding. If she could just—

“Relax,” he coaxes.

She does; easing into it, letting the mattress hold her weight instead of fighting it. She goes boneless, and though her bottom still stings, it’s easier to accept.

She clenches her teeth with anticipation, but Ben takes his time, hands gliding along her skin before settling behind her again. He leans over, tracing a line up the notches of her spine, eventually reaching her neck, cupping the back and holding her down with it. She has no leverage like this; when she tries to flex back, it’s like being collared, unable to move.

His free hand (must’ve set the belt down for a moment) grips her ass, eliciting fresh whimpers, before sliding between her thighs, testing to see what he’ll find. 

“Awfully wet for someone who’s done nothing but complain,” he rubs until he finds her clit—Rey keens; it’s already so swollen, attuned to his every movement. “If I didn’t know better Rey, I’d think you were enjoying this.”

She grumbles, the flush of humiliation climbing her temples.  _ Asshole _ .

Ben is a man of his word; the last few spanks are quick as lightning, pain and pleasure blooming across her skin. She sobs and kicks and warbles her thanks, trembling at the overwhelming sting.

Rey tries to hide her face when he rolls her over; she can feel the heat of her tears, and it was unpleasant to think that something as inconsequential as a spanking was enough to make her cry. Ben just croons, sitting back on the bed and pulling her into his lap, rubbing gentle circles onto her abused skin.

It’s nice. To be coddled a bit. To be put in her place and then told that she’s loved—he murmurs the words, imprinting then onto her skin. “Took it so well,” his lips on her shoulder. “My good girl,” with a squeeze around her midsection.

“For you,” she whines, bucking her hips a little. The gentle flame in her belly is alight; every movement draws her attention to the soaked cotton covering her center.

“What do good girls get, Rey?”

“They-they get fucked,” she moans, rocking urgently; each pass brings a smidge of relief but  _ nothing _ is going to sate her like being split open by his cock. “Please. I need it.”

“No, silly. Not yet.” He grabs her hips, rolling them so she’s underneath his bulk. “You’re going to edge on my tongue first and  _ beg.” _

Rey sobs; can’t tell if she’s excited or terrified when Ben settles below her thighs; her socked feet are planted on either side of his ribs, tucking her toes under for warmth, trying to ground her nervous limbs.

And then he just—smiles and licks the damp cotton apex of her underwear.

It’s cruel—too dull in sensation to provide anything resembling relief and he knows it: each swipe of his tongue just bunches the fabric, pulling it across sensitized skin. Rey throws her head back and moans; she  _ hates _ him so much.

“No— _ you _ were the one who didn’t listen,” his nose traces just where her clit is buried, aching. “I  _ told _ you not to wear panties, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she hisses, hips jerking when he moves again; this is  _ torture _ and she’s reporting him to whoever prosecutes war crimes tomorrow. She’s never going to come like this. “I’m sorry, I’m  _ sorry—“ _

“Oh?”

“ _ Yes,”  _ she bites out. The amount of self-restraint she’s exercising  _ not _ to sink her fingers in his luscious hair and force those lips where she wants them is unbelievable. “Yes, I’m very sorry for not listening, and I deserved to be spanked—but please,  _ please _ I want-“

Ben hooks a finger in her underwear and pulls them aside, finally freeing her cunt to the cool air. He hums, like he’s  _ inspecting  _ her, a new type of humiliation of its own.

“You  _ look  _ sorry, sweet thing.” 

Rey had been sure she had no tears left to give—but frustration is needling under her skin. Her eyes feel hot and salty.

“All this slick tells me you just  _ like _ being punished. Is that right?”

“Yes,” she hiccups, nodding at the ceiling. “I do.”

“Isn’t it nicer when you use your words, baby?” She wonders if she’ll ever stop shivering at the sound of his voice, deep and husky. 

Ben has a wide mouth; plush lips and a talented tongue, and he likes to take his time with her cunt. Little licks, long lines, sucking at her skin. Tonight it’s  _ worse _ , like he’s just barely tasting her before nipping her thighs—he gives her nothing and she just  _ takes  _ it. Eventually—perhaps when she lets out the most pathetic whimper ever—he noses his way back up to her clit, and then, oh; it’s just warm and soft and perfect, that little nub in his mouth, teased to oblivion. 

Her toes are curling into the sheets, her nervous panting increasing in pitch—it takes her awhile to realize she’s babbling nonsense.

_ Please I’ll be good please let me come I swear I’ll— _

She feels herself cresting over that wave, the first sparks of something wonderful—her toes point and she moans; she’s been wet since he leaned over her this morning in his work shirt. It’s all coming together, tied into a little bow.

Which is why when he stops—when her thighs just begin to quiver— and has the audacity to lift his head and  _ smile _ at her, she strongly considers the fact that jail time wouldn’t be too terrible.

“W-what,” she stutters, her body trembling as her orgasm fades away, “d-did you  _ do _ ?”

“Oh—did you think you were going to come?”

“I— _ yes,”  _ she cries, sorrowful, fingers twisting the sheets.

Ben shakes his head, pressing a consoling kiss to her thigh; it doesn’t make her feel any better. “You haven’t even been properly fucked yet.”

“But..”

“Don’t worry. You’ll come—eventually. You’re going to earn it with that pretty cunt.”

Rey goes scarlet, despite the fact that she’s sitting here with her legs open, dripping on her boyfriend's face. It’s the way he says it; placating and oddly sweet that makes her squirm with delight.

“Bend over the bed,” he stands up, shucking off his trousers and underwear, undoing the resilient buttons at his neck. “And take off the underwear you ruined.”

She jumps to comply, difficult with trembling legs; her face hits pillow as she quickly flips up her skirt to grab the fabric at her hips, shoving it down her thighs; she blushes when she sees a long strand of her own wetness clinging to the fabric.

Ben knocks her out of her reverie when he simply lines up behind her, shoving one leg between her thighs and stretching them wider; she slips on the carpet with a squeak.

“What do you think,” his cock head bumps her entrance, dipping into the liquid there, dragging it out. “Can I fit the whole thing in that little pussy?”

It’s dirty talk and it’s stupid because while Ben’s cock is nothing to sneeze at, she’s always taken it, even if he sometimes bumps her cervix in the right position. Still; her stomach does flips, enamored with the idea that she’d be a different person when he was done with her. The first stretch is usually a little uncomfortable—

He notches in and pushes with no warning; the air leaves her lungs as he moves, impossibly thick, splitting her open and touching  _ everywhere _ inside.

“Fucking heaven, Rey,” he praises, one hand between her shoulder blades. It’s relentless, because he just keeps going until his hips hit her tender backside; she lifts her head, ignoring the embarrassment of drool at the corners of her mouth. He’s seated within her, heavy and demanding and nowhere left for her to go.

“And she’s so much better  _ behaved  _ with a cock inside her, isn’t she?”

“Are you going to fuck me or just,” she hiccups, balancing up on her toes, arching her back, “monologue?”

_ Fuck _ .  _ Stupid, big mouth—can’t resist; very very dumb _ , she thinks in quick succession; Ben is silent behind her, and no, she’s not going to crane her neck to see if he’s mad.

He  _ laughs. _

Oh dear.

“Manners, Rey.”

He’s furious, then.

Rey has always liked sex; but there’s something different about it when her partner is nearly feral with need. She likes when it’s vicious, all slapping skin and deep thrusts and grunting; makes it easier to lose herself in it. Ben has always been good at that; the size of a fridge, messy hair and wandering hands that are inclined to squeeze too hard.

This is—incomparable.

He lifts her hips, toes just barely brushing the carpet and absolutely rails into her; thrusting with abandon, each one a force of its own. The tempo of his snapping hips, the snarling noises he’s making; all of it convalescing at that sweet spot inside of her. He’s going to  _ break _ her.

“Christ—you really are a fucking brat.”

Rey whines, squeezing, propping herself up on her elbows. “ _ Ye-es,”  _ she loves how that word sounds on his tongue; filthy and sweet.

“But  _ my  _ little brat,” he croons. “Isn’t that right?”

“Uh huh,” she huffs when he fucks into her again. Every thrust is driving her closer and closer to that solid cliff of pleasure.

“I bet you’re so close, huh?” His fingers dig into her skin; she’s going to be bruised tomorrow. “Gonna come on my cock?”

“Please,” she begs, at the end of her patience. “Please can I?”

“Touch yourself,” he orders, grunting; sweat-damp hair curling at the nape off his neck. “Don’t fucking come yet, Rey.”

She squirms a hand beneath her body and swirls in a practiced movement around her clit before realizing she’s entirely too close; she spreads her fingers and sobs.

“Good girl,” he hisses. “Look at that. I’m gonna fill you up and  _ then _ you can have yourself a nice little orgasm, alright?”

“Please come,” she begs; she can’t physically wait much longer. “Inside me,” Rey squeezes his length. “As deep as you can.”

Ben is possessive, a beast on his best days. Talking about being marked up, his spend inside her whichever way is like a golden ticket and Rey uses it to her advantage when she likes. She squeaks when his cock twitches—the sensation of liquid warmth where they’re joined—and Ben grunts, fitting as much of him inside of her as possible, until they’re pressed together at the seam. Rey works her fingers instantly, wailing when she tumbles over; she squeezes him like a  _ vice  _ and it’s glorious, lasting on and on, oozing through her spine like honey.

She’s still jerking when he pulls out, come spilling from her hole. He clicks his tongue, muttering something that sounds like  _ messy girl _ ; Rey feels his touch when he catches it on his fingertips and pushes it— in a single, punishing stroke— back inside of her.

“Come here,” he croaks when he’s satisfied; she’s malleable and limp when he crawls into bed and pulls her alongside his body. Rey steals into the warmth of his chest, like a giant, man-sized pillow to burrow into.

“I forgot about dessert,” she mumbles, drowsy voice muffled into his collarbone; he’s tracing a pattern on her arm and it’s putting her to sleep. It’s almost enough to make her forget the two slices of pie she’d grabbed from the deli on her walk home.

His chest rumbles with a laugh. “Of course you’d be thinking about food. What did you get us?”

Rey pauses, pondering her answer; she’s sore, sure, but round two isn’t completely out of the question.

_ Lean into it. _

“Who said anything about dessert for  _ you?” _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It ain’t much but it’s honest work.jpeg
> 
> @TheVuasLog on Twitter....in case you want to enable MORE terrible ideas


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